The Winter Wedding
by AbbyTheBlue
Summary: The winter of 1543 was a bitter one, and not just because of the cold. Sherlock Holmes, the prince of Lalethiel, had always been reluctant to take part in the arranged marriage that was set up to hold back the war, but the stakes were raised when he found himself unfortunately in love with the peasant he'd met in the village below. Sherlock x Eleventh Doctor fluff (or Elelock).
1. The Stranger From the Town

12/16/1543

It's been a bitter winter. Even in the great castle of Lalethiel, with great roaring fires in every room and the blankets of the warmest silk, it was hard to keep warm. But the temperature here is nothing compared to what it is in the village down below the castle. I should know. Life here is toxically boring, but things on the ground are storming with life. Well, disgusting and weird, but interesting. I've only been sneaking out for three days, late at night now, but I love it.

Nights in the castle are outrageously dull. I've overheard people in the village saying they wished they could be a prince or a princess, but they have no idea what they're talking about. Being a prince is leisurely, sure, but nothing ever happens; there's no struggle, anything you want you barely have to ask and it's there. My only company is my parents and Mycroft, who I'd rather kill myself than have a full conversation with. The castle is so spacey, it's always cold everywhere and always silent. God, I wish I could just be on the ground all the time.

If there was a polar opposite to the castle, it would be the town below. It's less active at night, as most places are, but even at night it's more lively than the castle ever gets. People are bustling from place to place, walking in their raggy clothes along the roads, talking as loudly as they wish amongst themselves, not worried about breaking the silence. Horses and carriages pass slowly through the roads and late night salesmen are shouting at you to buy whatever they're selling. The houses are close together, and you can still hear babies crying or people loudly talking and laughing, seeing the fires within. No matter what the situation, someone is always around. It's fantastic.

By last night, I had pretty much gotten used to it. I would put on the set of clothes that peasants dressed in, purposely messed up, then sneak out after I knew that everyone else was asleep. The people here knew the name Sherlock Holmes, but they had no way of knowing what I looked like, so I was in no danger of getting caught. Still though, it takes some getting used to. Last night I snuck out even earlier than the two nights before, and even more people were still awake. The sun hadn't even set yet.

As soon I so much as stepped out of the gates, it was instant chaos. People were everywhere and the musky smell of dirt and the farm was so potent it brought tears to his eyes. The people formed a sea I had to part and I couldn't see two feet ahead of me. Several different badly played tunes came from different places out of the air, and I could still hear salespeople crying the name of their product. I don't know how far I made it, as I could barely see in front of me anything other than people. But suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt a sharp blow to the head and was on the ground unconscious.

I woke up in the same place I had been before, but it took me a second to recognize it. At this point, there were only a few wanderers taking late night walks out on the street, and the stars and moon were all the way out in the sky. It was then I noticed the figure leaning over me.

"Oh good! You're not dead!" He said. I blinked hard, my head still aching from the previous blow. My thoughts were still blurred, too.

"What?" I asked him. "Where… am I, what's the hour?"

"About an hour past midnight," He answered with a grin. He leaned back a little, sitting down beside me. My vision clearing, he came into view. He had a boyish, muddy face but he was still clearly around my age. His hair was brown and flopped over the side of his head, and his clothes were messy and chaotic. Most of what he wore was dark colors, aside from a bright red ribbon tied oddly around his neck in the shape of a bow. With caution, I sat up.

"Who are you?" I asked him.

"I'm called John Smith," He said. "And who are you?"

"Sh…" I was barely able to catch myself before saying my fake name. "Peter Abbott."

"Shpeter Abbott? That's odd," He commented foolishly.

"No, just Peter Abbott." I told him.

"Oh," He said, almost disappointed. As I tried to stand, the stranger took my shoulders and pushed me back down. "Careful!" He warned. "You bashed in your head, I wouldn't be standing yet."

"I'm… fine…" But immediately, I could see I was telling a lie. My head throbbed and I knew it would be hard to stand.

"Where do you live? I'll help you get there, if it isn't too far."

"I…" I stopped. I hadn't decided on an address in the public yet. A foolish mistake I shouldn't have overlooked. "I can make it home, just give me a moment," I said finally.

"No way." He said. "Hey, I get it. Don't wanna give out where you live, don't want some naive stealing all you have. I'll just take you to my home."

"No," I said immediately. "No, I have to be home by very early morning. Before the sun is even risen."

"That's okay. I live less than a mile away by foot, and it's by the straightest road. We'll be there far, far before the sun rises."

I opened my mouth to reject his offer, but then considered, it wasn't like I was in any hurry to get back to the castle. Finally, I nodded. "Alright. But… not for long."

It was then he carefully lifted me up off the ground and we walked with my arm over his shoulder. It was rather hard, as I was so dizzy I could hardly see straight, but John's estimation was fairly correct. It took us about an hour, maybe a bit less until he stopped in front of a small house that looked exactly like the others, only a bit smaller. He lead me in, where there was only one bed and one pot over a fire, flickering down into ashes. All there was for cushion was a huge bale of hay in the corner, which he lead me to sit down on as he threw some more logs into the fire. I found it a little odd that someone of his age was living alone, but it was his choice. When he was done tending the fire, he took a dark, dirty blanket from off his bed and spread it around my shoulders. It was hard to believe he had just taken me off the street and offered such hospitality. Nobody in the castle or anyone else I knew would do something like that.

After he wrapped the blanket around me, he sat down on the scratchy hay beside me. "So, where you from?" He asked. He had a lower-class accent that I hadn't been remembering to use, but at this point it would just seem weird. Quickly, he added. "If, you're comfortable, of course."

I nodded. "The East," I lied.

"You don't sound like you're from the east."

"I don't recall asking your opinion."

He shut his mouth. "Fine. You're from the east." He said finally. "What brings you here?"

"Business," I said simply.

"Business?"

"Yes."

"Of what sort?"

"The sort that isn't yours."

"You've got a lot of secrets haven't you, Peter Abbott?"

"You have no idea." I told him. A moment of silence passed, as his eyes, shady brown looked over me, a gentle smile over his face. He was a peculiar person, this John. I guessed he was thinking the same about me.

"Anyway," I said. I carefully stood, my strength returning to me. "I had best be going now. I would like to get a bit of sleep back at my home."

He grinned up at me and nodded. "Of course!" He stood up energetically and took the blanket off, laying it back on his bed. "Hopefully I'll see you again, Peter Abbott,"

"Yes," I agreed, as I headed for the door. "Thank you," I added before I left. He grinned at me.

"It was no problem!" He said. And with that, I left and headed home.

I was lucky to sneak home without anybody finding me. As soon as I was in bed, I wrote this. I intend to sleep like the dead tonight.


	2. Little Truths

12/17/1543

I so wish I could leave during the day instead of at night. At night, the only thing I'm missing is sleep, which is, in my opinion, a rather good way to think and evaluate. I still have to survive the day, however, pacing the halls and wandering the grounds to calm my boredom. Recently I have taken up a bit of archery just around mid-day, when it gets almost somewhere close to warm. I'm quite good at it, if I do say so myself. I was out there just today, about 20 feet away from a target that's buried in the snow. I took another arrow, put it into the bow, and carefully aimed.

Before I shot, however, an arrow flew just beside my head and hit the dead center of the target. I lowered my bow and turned around.

"Mycroft," I said, turning to see my older brother with a rude smirk on his lips and a bow in his hands. "What are you doing here?"

He placed his bow over his shoulder and gingerly dropped the handful of arrows he was holding into the snow. "Why, practicing my archery, of course." He said smugly.

"Nice try. You hate archery. It is, and I quote, 'the inane practice of large-scale violence'" I reminded him. He smiled softly, looking down.

"Ah, well, I will admit there is another reason for me being here." He confessed, loading up an arrow and closing one eye in his aim.

"And that is?" I asked.

"I need to talk to you," He said. He shot his arrow. It sat directly beside the other, in the center of the target.

"You best make it brief," I said. "Your voice gives me an odd desire to stab myself in the chest with a butcher's knife."

He didn't respond to the sarcastic comment, or even make eye contact with me. He just loaded up his bow with yet another arrow. "And you best be grateful," He told me. "You hear this from me, directly and shortly, or you hear it from mother and father, all buttered up and dramatic."

"What part of brief confuses you, Mycroft?" I sighed. "Your message?"

His face remained stark and he didn't look at me. "You're getting married, Sherlock," He said, as he fired another arrow. It laid just between the two previous, even more in the center than the others. I smiled softly in disbelief, but admittedly, my stomach was churning with concern.

"No, I'm not," I said.  
"Sorry, it's not up for negotiation," He said, as he loaded and aimed his final arrow. "We need to make peace with the kingdom of Allearad, and the best way to do that is to bring together two families of royalty. There is no other way. If we do not go through with it, there is no way of avoiding it."

"Avoiding what?" I asked.

He fired his final arrow, and the point split right through the wooden shaft and landed in the dead center between the two halves of the broken arrow. "War," He said. He stood for a moment, looking at the target, before he heavily sighed. "Well, I best be getting inside." He told me.

"I will not marry her, Mycroft."

"Him."

"What?"

"A young prince, around your age." I scowled and crossed my arms. I had no preference, but I'd rather not be entangled with either.

"You say that as though that changes the fact that I will not marry _him!"_ I insisted.

"Don't be so closed-minded, Sherlock!" He called back to me, as he began walking back inside. "You ought to meet him, at least!"

"I won't do it, Mycroft!" I called after him. "And you can't make me!"

"Now, don't be so childish." He said turning around. "I have every intention of making you." I opened my mouth to speak, but at that point, he was already past the gates and there was no way he would hear me.

I snuck out again that time. This time I actually brought a little money in case I wanted to get anything, but everything was too chaotic for me to focus on buying things. It took me a moment to recognize a name was being called, and another moment to realize it was mine. Well, the one I'd made up anyway. My head whipped around to try and find the source of the voice. It didn't sound all that far off at all, but I could hardly hear anything here. Suddenly, there was a firm hand on my back and I turned around to see John.

"Hey, Peter!" He greeted.

"John, hello!" I said, still rather frazzled from the chaotic atmosphere.

"You seem to be stressed," He told me honestly. "And you were near dead last time I found you. Tell me, what are things like in the East?"

"Less crowded," I told him.

"I can tell," He laughed. "Come on, wanna go to my house again?" He asked. I nodded. It was plenty early, and his house really wasn't far. "Sure," I said.

We ventured back to his house. He followed the same routine as he had done yesterday, throwing a log onto the fire and sitting on his giant hay bale beside me. He started talking about something, but I wasn't really paying attention. I looked down and thought about what Mycroft had said. No way. Never.

"Peter!" He finally jolted me out of my trance, and I looked up.

"Yes?" I asked him.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yes I… I'm fine." I lied. In truth, I was incredibly worried.

"I don't believe you!" He said in a sing-songy voice. "Come on, Peter, what is it? We're out of the town, it's all alright now."

I looked at him for a moment. We had only met yesterday, and he was treating me like his best friend. It was rather odd, but then again, with everyone in the castle being so cold and silent, it was sort of refreshing. Why not tell him? How and why would he hold it against me?

"Something someone said to me," I said vaguely. "I have to do something I don't want to do."

"And what's that?" He asked with a grin. I looked up distrustfully. Not yet. I'd already told him too much, to tell him more would just be foolish.

"I can't say," I said honestly.

"You've got a lot of secrets, don't you Peter?" He asked me like he did last night.

"I do," I admitted.

"Then how about this," He said, settling a little more comfortable in the hay and putting his hands behind his head. "Every day you see me, you have to tell me one thing about you."

"Of any sort?"

"Yeah, anything."

I considered it for a moment. I could tell him plenty without telling him anything at all, and who knows, maybe it would be fun? I had never really had a friend before, and so far, the concept was intriguing.

"Deal," I said sternly. He sat up, his face lighting up in a grin.

"Really?!" He asked eagerly. I stood up, knowing I should really go if I wanted any sleep. "Really," I said, as I adjusted my coat.

"And for today?"

I went over to the door and opened it up, before giving him a bit of a smile. "I'm not really from the East," I told him honestly. And then, I headed out the door and back home.


End file.
